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ON THE TREE-TOP 

CHILDREN’S FAVORITE STORIES 


VERSIFIED BV 


CLARA DOTY BATES AND OTHERS 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

FRANK T. MERRILL, EDMUND H. GARRE'I / 

AND OTHER WELL KNOWN ARTISTS 




BOSTON 


D LOTHROP COMPANY 

WASHINGTON STREET OPPOSITE RROMHVI T) 

' 

\ I 










Copyright, 1891, 

BY 

D. Lothrop Company. 


CONTENTS 


I. 

ON THE TREE-TOP. 

* II. 

THE BEGGAR KING. 

III. 

THE ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSS. 

IV. 

THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF CHAN FUNG LOG. 

V. 

THE STORY OF MISS MUFFET. 

VI. 

THE GOLD SPINNER. 

VII. 

A CHILD’S CALENDAR. 

VIII. 

THE MISSION TEA PARTY. 

^X. 


ALADDIN. 


CONTENTS. 


X. 

THE LOST BELL. 

XI. 

THE SLEEPING PRINCESS. 

XII. 

THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS. 

XIII. 

LITTLE URSEL’S MOTHERING SUNDAY. 

XIV. 

THE FAIRY FLAG. 

XV. 

WASIS THE CONQUEROR. 

XVI. 

LITTLE PEACHLING. 


XVI T. 

THE DEACON’S LITTLE MAID. 

XVIII. 


KING OLEG'S CROWN. 


ON THE TREE-TOP. 



Rock-a-bye, baby on the tree-top, 

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock. 

When the bough bends, the cradle will fall, 

And down will come baby, bough, cradle and all. 





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THE BEGGAR KING 


THE BEGGAR KING. 


By Mary E. Wilkins. 


cirk! hark ! hark ! the dogs do hark / 
The Beggars have come to town , 

Some in rags, and some in tags, 

And some in velvet gowns.” 

— Old Nursery Rhyme. 




I- 




H ALF frantic, down the city streets, 
The barking dogs they tore ; 

The dust it flew, and no man knew 
The like of it before. 

The great St. Bernard’s booming bass, 
The hound’s sepulchral howl, 

The terrier-whelp’s staccato yelp, 

And the bull-dog’s massive growl, 

In chorus sounded thro’ the town : 

The windows up they went, 

Thro’ every space a gaping face 
Inquiringly was bent. 


I 






-fcr-r.iR 


The burgher’s daughter clean forgot 
Her snood of silk and pearls, 

And full of dread, popped out her head, 
With its tumbled yellow curls. 

A rosebud smote her on the lips : 

Down went the rattling blind ; 

But still the maid, all curious, staid 
And slyly peeped behind. 

A handsome lord, with smiling lips. 
Leaned from the opposite tower ; 

Two withered hags, in dirt and rags. 

Did from their garret glower. 

The tailor left his goose to see, 

And got his coat ablaze ; 

Three peasant maids, with shining braids, 
Looked on in wild amaze. 




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THE BEGGAR KING. 


The emperor’s palace windows high, 

All open they were set — 

From the gray stone red jewels shone, 
And gold and violet. 

The ladies of the emperor’s court 
Leaned out with stately grace ; 

And each began her peacock fan 
To wave before her face. 

“ Hark ! hark ! hark ! the dogs do bark ! ” 



The emperor left his throne 
U the uproar, and o’er the floor, 

He trailed his ermine gown. 

fae dogs press round the city-gates, 

The guards they wave them back ; 

But all in vain with might and main, 
Dance round the yelping pack. 

P/ark ! hark ! hark ! o’er growl and bark 
There sounds a trumpet-call ! 

Now, rat-tat-tat, pray what is that 
Outside the city-wall ? 




Airs from the Beggar’s Opera 
On broken fiddles played ; 

On pans they drum and wildly strum, 
Filched from a dairy-maid. 

With tenor-whine, and basso-groan, 

The chorus is complete ; 

And, far and wide, there sounds beside 
The tramp of many feet ! 

“ Hark ! hark ! hark ! the dogs do bark !” 

Ah, what a horrid din ! 

The Beggars wait outside the gate, 

And clamor to get in. 

A herald to the emperor rode : 

“ Save ! save the emerald crown ! 

For, hark ! hark ! hark ! the dogs do bark ! 
The Beggars storm the town ! ” 

The emperor donned his clinking mail. 

Called out his royal guard, 

The city-gate, with furious rate, 

Went galloping toward. 

A captain with a flag of truce 
Thus parleyed on the wall : 

“ Why do ye wait outside the gate, 

And why so loudly call ? ” 

He spoke, then eyed them with dismay; 

For o’er the valley spread 
The clamoring crowd, and stern and proud 
A king rode at their head. 

In mothy ermine he was drest; 

As sad a horse he rode, 

With jaunty air, quite debonnaire , 

As ever man bestrode. 


THE BEGGAR KING. 



The Beggars stumped and limped behind, 
With wails and whines and groans — 

“ Some in rags, and some in tags, 

And some in velvet gowns.” 

A great court-beauty’s splendid dress 
Was there, all soiled and frayed; 

The scarf, once bright, a belted knight 
Wore at his accolade ; 

A queen’s silk hose ; a bishop’s robe ; 

A monarch’s funeral -pall ; 

The shoes, all mud, a prince-o’-the-blood 
Had danced in at a ball. 

The Beggars stumped and limped along, 
Aping their old-time grace : 

Upon the wind, flew out behind, 

Ribbons of silk and lace. 

A wretched company it was 
Around the city gate — 

The sour and sad, the sick and bad, 

And all disconsolate. 

But in the wretched company 
There was one dainty thing : 

A maiden, white as still moonlight, 

Who rode beside the king. 

Her hands were full of apple-flowers 
Plucked in the country lanes ; 

Her little feet, like lilies sweet, 

O’erlaced with violet veins, 

Hung down beneath her tattered dress * 

A bank of lilies, showed 

Her shoulders fair ; her dusky hair 
Down to her girdle flowed. 


THE BEGGAR KING. 



Up spoke the haughty Beggar King : 

“ I want no parleying word ! 

Bid come to me, right speedily, 

The emperor, your Lord ! ” 



Wide open flew the city-gate ! 

Out rode the emperor bold ; 

His war-horse pranced and lightly danced 
Upon his hoofs of gold. 

Now what wouldst thou, O Beggar King? 

What wouldest thou with me ? 

For all the gold the town doth hold 
Would not suffice for thee.” 

“ Beholdest thou my daughter dear, 

O emperor, by my side ? 

Though wild the rose, it sweetly grows, 
And she shall be thy bride, 

“ And thou shalt seat her on thy throne. 
When thou thy troth hast pledged, 

Her beauty grace with gems and lace, 
And robes with ermine edged; 

“ Or else, on thee, O emperor, 

Like locusts we’ll come down ! 

And naught that’s fair or rich or rare, 
We’ll leave within the town ! 

“ The children all shall lack for food, 

And the lords and ladies pine ; 

For we will eat your dainties sweet, 

And drink your red old wine ! 

Now what say’st thou, O emperor ? — 
Wed thou my daughter dear, 
To-morrow day, by dawning gray, 

Thy borders shall be clear.” 

The emperor looked upon the maid : 

She shyly dropped her head ; 

Her apple-flowers fell down in showers. 
Her soft white cheeks grew red. 


THE BEGGAR KING. 



THE BEGGAR KING. 


They led the trembling beggar-maid 
All gently up the stair, 

Thro’ golden doors with sills of flowers, 
Into a chamber fair. 

They loosed from her her faded gear ; 

They kissed her gentle face ; 

From head to feet clad her so sweet 
In linen fine and lace ; 

They clasped her golden-threaded robe - 
“ Darling, thou art so fair ! ” 

With strings of pearls, amid the curls, 
They dressed her flowing hair. 



THE ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSb. 


THE ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSS. 

By Mary E. Wilkins. 



P RAY show the way to Banbury Cross/' 
Silver bells are ringmg. 

“ To find the place I’m at a loss/’ 

Silver bells are ringing. 


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“ Pass six tall hollyhocks red and white ; 
Then, turn the corner toward the right, 
Pass four white roses ; turn once more, 
Go by a bed of gilly-flower, 

And one of primrose ; turn again 
Where, glittering with silver rain, 

There is a violet-bank; then pass 
A meadow green with velvet grass, 

Where lively lights and shadows play, 
And white lambs frolic all the day, 

Where blooming trees their branches toss 
Then will you come to Banbury Cross.” 


“Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross , 

To see an old woman jump on a white horse , 
With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes , 
She shall 7nake music wherever she goes 

Old Nursery Rhyme. 




THE ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSS. 


The white horse arched his slender neck, 
Silver bells are ringing, 

Snow-white he was without a speck, 

Silver bells are ringing. 

An old wife held his bridle-rein, 

(The king was there with all his train,) 
Her gray hair fluttered in the wind, 

Her gaze turned inward on her mind; 
And not one face seemed she to see 
In all that goodly company. 

Gems sparkled on her withered hands ; 
Her ankles gleamed with silver bands 
On which sweet silver bells were hung, 
And always, when she stirred, they rung. 



The white horse waited for the start, 
Silver bells are ringing, 

Before him leapt his fiery heart, 

Silver bells are ringing. 

Upon his back the old wife sprung, 

Her silver bells, how sweet they rung ! 
She gave her milk-white steed the rein, 
And round they swept, and round again 
A merry sight it was to see, 

And the silver bells rang lustily. 

The gallant horse with gold was shod ; 
So fleetly leapt he o’er the sod, 

He passed the king before he knew : 
And past his flying shadow flew. 


THE ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSS. 



A pretty sight it was, forsooth, 

Silver bells are ringing, 

For dame and children, maid and youth, 
Silver bells are ringing. 

The princess laughed out with delight, 
And clapped her hands, so lily-white — 
The darling princess, sweet was she 
As any flowering hawthorn-tree. 

She stood beside her sire, the king, 

And heard the silvery music ring, 

And watched the old wife o’er the plain 
Sweep round, and round, and round again 
Till, suddenly she slacked her pace, 

And stopped before her wondering face, 




And snatched her up before they knew. 
Silver bells are ringing, 

And with her from their vision flew, 
Silver bells are ringing. 

The nobles to their saddles spring, 
And follow headed by the king ! 

They gallop over meadows green ; 
They leap the bars that lie between ; 
Thro’ the cool woodland ride they now, 
’Neath rustling branches, bending low; 
The silver music draws them on, 

But, when they reach it, it is gone — 
The white dew falls, the sun is set, 

And no trace of the princess yet. 


THB ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSS 



THE ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSS. 



THE ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSS. 


“ She was so full of angel-love,” 

Silver bells are ringing , ; 

They could but make her a white dove,” 
Silver bells are ringing. 

The king stood ’neath the minster-wall, 
And loudly on his child did call. 

A snow-white dove beneath the eaves, 
Looked down from ’mongst the ivy-leaves. 
Then flew down to the monarch’s breast, 
And, sorely panting there did rest. 

Then spake the Wise Man by his side : 

“ Oh, king, canst thou subdue thy pride 
And hang thy crown beneath the eaves, 
Amongst the clustering ivy-leaves 





“ In thine unhappy daughter’s place ? ” 
Silver bells are ringing, 

She’ll find but thus her maiden-grace,” 
Silver bells are ringing. 

The jewels in the royal crown, 

Out from the dark-green ivy shone ! 

The white dove softly folds her wings, 
Then lightly to the ground she springs — 
A lovely princess, sweet the more, 

For being a white dove an hour. 

They went home through the happy town 
The king forgot his royal crown, 

And, soon, beneath the minster-eaves, 
'Twas hidden by the ivy-leaves. 



THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF CHANG FUNG LOO. 



€H. ggv . -*a- 



THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF 
CHANG FUNG LOO. 


BY MRS. M. E. BLAKE. 


NCE on a time in the Flowery Land 
( A name for China, you understand), 

Where the Yangtse Kiang and Hoang Ho 
Flow from the beautiful Mounts of Snow, 

Where the Pe-la-shu are the favorite trees, 

And tea leaves float on the evening breeze — 

In the province of Kwang Tung, near Chow Choo, 
Lived a wonderful youth named Chang Fung Loo. 





He was wonderful, just as a phoenix would be, 

Or anything equally rare to see — 

A blackbird white, or a sunlit night, 

Or a walking fish, or a wingless bird, 

Or anything else that is quite absurd — 

For he was a glutton ! Just think of that ! 

In a country with stomachs so small and nice 
That they make a whole meal of one frog — if fat 
Or some infinitesimal grains of rice. 

Yes, he was a glutton. For breakfast he’d eat 
A couple of dozen of pickled pigs’ feet, 

A gallon or two of elegant stew 
Made from the delicate Sho-kia-yu, 

A yard of bread, and a three-quart pot 
Of ginger preserve, uncommonly hot, 

And wash it all down, as the case might be. 

With thirty or forty cups of tea. 





s// \l/ \Ir\y ms 


i Perhaps you think he would want no lunch ? 
Well, just let me tell you ; he’d swallow a bunch 
Of edible birds’ nests, a quarter of hog, 

^ ^ The ribs and legs of a plump young dog, \ ^ 
Y j A bushel of oysters, a score of larks, . 






THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF CHANG FUNG LOO. 



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The fins of unlimited numbers of sharks, 

And then he’d sit down on the bamboo floor, 
And this terrible boy would cry for more ! 

It still is a question in my mind whether 
If he had not been bom with the peacock feather 
(Which in those barbarous lands of the South 
Is the same as our silver spoon in the mouth) 

He would not be whipped till he lost his breath, 
Or hung, if you please, or flayed to death, 

Or banished away, as they sometimes do, 

To Sing Chu Ling, or to Yung Chow Foo. 




But his father was Kun£ ! And, besides all that, 
He wore a big ruby on top of his hat. 

So, whenever his son asked a slave for a dish, 

That moment ’twas brought, be it flesh, be it fish ; 
And poor Chang in the end, as was likely you see, 
Was as spoiled as a boy with a pig-tail could be. 


Day by day his appetite grew, 

Day by day the whole year through ; 

Till all that he wished, and all that he said. 
And all that he thought of, living or dead 
Big or little, or sour, or sweet, 

Was just to get something more to eat. 


No matter how horrid the kind of beast. 

He did not care in the very least ; 

But would stick big pins 
In his poor slaves’ shins, 

If they were not ready with som'e new feast — 
Elephants’ trunks and tiger roast, 



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THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF CHANG FUNG LOO. 

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1 


Boa Constrictor served up on toast, 

Walrus haunch and Zebra stew, 

Rump steak cut from the Horned Gnu, 
Hippopotamus and pickled Seal, 
Rhinoceros baked in cochineal, 

Crocodile tails and Camels’ humps, 
Monkeys cut into strips and lumps, 

Neck of Camelopard, spiced and cloved — 
These were a few of the things he loved. 




It happened — to make my story short — 
* It happened one day as he went to court, 
Driving his long-tailed ponies four 
Up to the emperor’s palace door, 

Fie heard them talk, in a frightened way, 
Of a monster seen in Chow Choo bay — 

A horrible thing, all teeth and claws, 

With a pair of tremendous bony jaws, 

And a dorsal fin all black and red, 

And a waterspout in a giant head, 

And a scaly length of a mile or more, 

Hobbling and wriggling along the shore, 

And a cyclop eye in a horned tail, 

A double head, double dyed, double u (w) hale. 

“ My Junk ! My J unk ! ” was all Chang said, 

And flung his whip at a pony’s head. 

“ Sound the loud tam-tam ! Beat the drum ! 

Bid all my bold retainers come! 

Shout for my brave harpooner bold ! 

Fling out my sails of cloth of gold ! 

Belay the anchor and douse the glib ! 

Til sup to-night on that monster's rib!” 





Out from the shore the good junk sailed 
Her sides, like dragons’, golden scaled ; 







THE TRAGICAL HISTORY Or" CHANG FUNG LOO. 


111 ))? . 




'// 


' '/ . 




1 


A hundred sailors, by fours and fours, |h; 
Rising and falling above the oars ; 

A hundred gallant soldiers dressed 
With spear and helmet and shield on breast ; 
The brave harpooner with spear so strong, 
Two hundred and seventy-five feet long ; 

And Chang himself on the deck — the upper - 
Smacking his lips as he thought of supper ! 

“ Avast your helm ! ” the lookout cried, 
“There she blows on the iarboard side ! ” 


Before they could turn, before they could think, 
Before they could even have time to wink, 

The sea-serpent rose on his hinder claws, 

He lifted the junk in his terrible jaws, 

And swallowed them ! — sailors and soldiers tall, 
Chang, the harpooner, spear and all, 

Mast, and rigging, and keel, and sail, 

And winked with the eye in his horned tail ! 

So Chang, who had gobbled so many a dish, 
Got gobbled at last by a sea-serpent fish. 




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Moral . 

The moral — that is if a moral there be — 

Is this : that a boy who sets up for a glutton 
Mllst watch, or some still bigger gobbler than he 
.Will get him at last, just as sure as a button. 


s) 






THE STORY OF MISS MUFFET. 


t 





THE STURDY Bfhfip 


T WAS a crimson velvet tuffet, 
With a golden cord around it, 
On which Miss Muffet sat ; 

Her frock was made of rosy satin. 
And she had a wreath of roses 
Twisted round her hat. 


Roses looked in at the window, 
Roses in tall, crystal vases 
Stood around the room ; 

On Miss Muffet’s cheeks were roses 
For it was that lovely season 
When roses are in bloom. 


' 'j 


Miss Muffet had a silver ewer 
Chased with wreaths of silver roses 
Full of curds and whey 1 ; 

On her knees a silver basin, 
’Graved with little knots of rose-buds 
In frosted silver, lay. 

Into her little silver basin, 

From her little silver ewer, 

She poured some curds and whey ; 
Then, with a little golden ladle, 
Daintily she fell to eating, 

As a lady may. 


THE STORY OF MISS MUFFET. 



i 

|l A spider swung in through the window, 
I Dressed in velvet, black and yellow, 

§ On a silken thread 
1 From a spray of Provence-roses ; 

| He wore a doublet barred with yellow, 
I And jewels on his head. 

Downward climbed he from the roses, 
4 Lightly, on his silken ladder ; 

I Slyly as a cat 

Jj Ran across to poor Miss Muffet, 

H And beside her, on the tuffet, 

I Impertinently sat. 

“fl / 

| All her curds and whey upsetting, 

I Through the window sprang Miss Muf- 


Lightly as a cat — 

Her frock of rosy satin tearing, 
From her cheeks the roses losing, 
And the roses from her hat. 


| The Fairy Prince that way was pranc- 

f in S> . 

| On his milk-white fairy courser, 

jj Out of Fairy-land; 

j; From his jewelled saddle springing, 

! Up he ran to poor Miss Muffet, 
j And gently kissed her hand : 

| “ Come with me, my dear Miss Muffet, 
\ For I am the Prince of Faery, 
j And I’ll treat you well ; 
i Fast we’ll fly o’er hill and meadow, 

| Keeping time unto the jingling 
jl Of a silver bell. 


“Come with^me, you rosy darling- 
In Fairy-1 arid there are no spiders 
To frighten you away; 

In a grove of fairy roses 
Safely you shall sit to-morrow, 

And feast on curds and whey. 


THE STOkY OF MISS MUFFET. 





“ Come with me, you rosy beauty ! 
Naught that has a taint of venom 
Enters Fairy-land ; 

Fairy guards with spears of crystal, 
Sentinels on diamond watch-towers, 
At its entrance stand.” 


Like a feather to the saddle, 

Half before she knew ; 

Over hills and velvet meadows, 
Silver bells and trumpets sounding, 
Merrily they flew. 


| They came to look for sweet Miss Muf 


They only found a surly spider 
Who on her tuffet sat ; 

And by the tree of Provence-roses 
Empty lay the silver ewer, 

And Miss Muffet’s hat. 


They only found some dainty-hoof 
prints, 

All too fine for mortal courser, 

Near them, where they lay : 

They only heard a silvery jingling 
And a blare of silver trumpets 
O’er the fields away. 


THE GOLD-SPINXER 



THE GOLD - SPINNER. j « |j ' Ti ... 

A MILLER had a daughter, j ], 

And lovely, too, she was; j ft, fj 

Her step was light, her smile was bright, u ■ JP|| : 

Her eyes, were gray as glass. m £m ? M 3 

(So Chaucer loved to write of eyes M , |||i I ?/ 

In which that nameless azure lies ffij; pfj \y W! 

So like shoal-water in its hue, Ri 'cjr / * yt 

Though all too crystal clear for blue.) Jjl IS 

As you would suppose, the miller /TO- ||P 

Was very proud of her, 

And would never fail to tell some tale i 

As to what her graces were. w ' t 

On the powdery air of his own mill 
Floated the whispers of her skill ; 

At the village inn the loungers knew _ 

All that the pretty girl could do. 

Oft in his braggart way 
• This foolish tale he told, 

That his daughter could spin from bits of straw 
Continuous threads of gold! 

So boastful had he grown, forsooth, 

Spsrf ^WBgg. That he cared but little for the truth : 

IL. | But since this was a curious thing 

M : It came to the knowledge of the king. 


Fie thought it an old wife’s fable, 

But senseless stuff at best ; 

Yet, as he had greed, he cried, “ Indeed ! 

I will put her powers to test.” 

With a wave of his hand, he further said 
g the clever maid 


That to-morrow mornin: 

Should come to the castle, and he would see 
What truth in the story there might be. 


THE GOLD-SPINNER. 



Next day, with a trembling step, 

She reached the palace door, 

And was shown into a chamber, where 
Was straw upon the floor. 

They brought her a chair and a spinning-wheel, 
A little can of oil, and a reel; 

And said that unless the work was done — 

All of the straw into the gold-thread spun — 

By the time that the sun was an hour high 
Next morning, she would have to die. 


Down sat she in despair, 

Her tears falling like rain : 

She had never spun a thread in her life, 

Nor ever reeled a skein ! 

Hark ! the door creaked, and through a chink, 
With droll wise smile and funny wink, 

In stepped a little quaint old man, 

All humped, and crooked, and browned with 
tan. 

She looked in fear and amaze 
To see what he would do ; 

He said, “ Little maid, what will you 
give 

I If I’ll spin the straw for you ?” 

Ah, me, few gifts she had in store — ~ _ __ 

A trinket or two, and nothing more ! 


A necklace from her throat so slim 
She took, and timidly offered him. 

’Twas enough, it seenod ; for he sat 
At the wheel in front of her, 

And turned it three times round and round, 
Whirr, and whirr-rr, and whirr-rr-rr — 
One of the bobbins was full ; and then, 
Whirr, and whirr-rr, and whirr-rr-rr again, 


TK_ GOLD-SPINNER. 



Down sank she in despair, 

Her tears falling like rain ; 

She could not spin a single thread, 

She could not reel a skein. 

But the door swung back, and through the chink, 
With the same droll smile and merry wink, 

The dwarf peered, saying, “ What will you do 
If I’ll spin the straw once more for you ? ” 

“ Ah me, I can give not a single thing,” 

She cried, “ except my finger-ring.” 

He took the slender toy, 

And slipped it over his thumb ; 

Then down he sat and whirled the wheel, 

Hum, and hum-m, and hum-m-m ; 

Round and round with a droning sound, 

Many a yellow spool he wound, 

Many a glistening skein he reeled ; 

And still, like bees in a clover-field, 

The wheel went hum, and hum-m and hum-m-m. 
Next morning the king came, 

Almost before sunrise, 

To the chamber where the maiden was, 

And could scarce believe his eyes 
To see the straw, to the smallest 
Made into shining amber threads. 

And he cried, “ When once more I have tried 
Your skill like this, yop shall be my bride; 


Until all the straw that had been spread 
Had been deftly spun into golden 

At sunrise came the king 

To the chamber, and, behold, 

Instead of the ugly heaps of straw 
Were bobbins full of gold ! 

This made him greedier than before; N 
And he led the maiden out at the door 
I nto a new room, where she saw 
Still larger and larger heaps of straw, 

A chair to sit in, a spinning-wheel, 

A little can of oil, and a reel; 

And he said that straw, too, must be spun 
To gold before the next day’s sun 
Was an hour high in the morning sky, 
And if ’twas not done, she must die. 








For 1 might search through all my life 
Nor find elsewhere so rich a wife.” 

Then he led her by the hand 
Through still another door, 

To a room tilled twice as full of straw 
1 As either had been before. 

There stood the chair and the spinning-wheel, 
And there the can of oil and the reel ; 

And as he gently shut her in 
He whispered, “ Spin, little maiden, spin.” 

i 
> 


Again she wept, and again 
Did the little dwarf appear ; 

“ What will you give this time,” he asked, 
“ If I spin for you, my dear ? ” 


Alas — poor little maid — alas! 

Out of her eyes as gray as glass 
Faster and faster tears did fall, 

As she moaned, “ I’ve nothing to give at all.” 
Ah, wicked indeed he looked ; 

But while she sighed, he smiled! 

“ Promise, when you are queen,” he said, 
“ To give me your first-born child ! 
Little she tho’t what that might mean, 
Or if ever in truth she should be queen 
ything, so that the w r ork was done— 
Anything, so that the gold was spun 1 
She promised all that he chose to ask ; 
And blithely he began the task. 

Round went the wheel, and round, 
Whiz, and whiz z, and whiz-z-z ! 

So swift that the thread at the spindle 
point 

Flew- off with buzz and hiss. 


.J& 


She dozed — so tired her eye’ids were — 

To the endless whirr, and whirr, and whirr; 
Though not even sleep could overcome 
The wheel’s revolving hum, hum, hum ! 
When at last she woke the room was clean, 
Not a broken bit of straw w r as seen ; 

But in huge high heaps w^ere piled and rolled 
> Great spools of gold — nothing but gold ! 

It was just at the earliest peep of dawn, 

And she was alone — the dwarf was gone. 






THE GOLD-SPINNER. 



It was indeed a marvellous thing 
For a miller’s daughter to wed a king ; 

But never was royal lady seen 
More fair and sweet than this young queen. 
The spinning dwari she quite forgot 
In the ease and pleasure of her lot ; 

And not until her first-born child 
Into her face had looked and smiled 
Did she remember the promise made ; 

Then her heart grew sick, her soul afraid. 


One day her chamber door 
Pushed open just a chink, 

And she saw the well-known crooked dwarf, 
His wise smile and his blink. 

He claimed at once the promised child ; 

But she gave a cry so sad and wild 
That even his heart was touched to hear ; 
And, after a little, drawing near, 

He whispered and said: “You pledged 
The baby, and I came; 

But if in three days you can learn 
By foul or fair my name — 

By foul or fair, by wile or snare, 

You can its syllables declare, 

Then is the child yours — only then — 

And me you shall never see again ! ” 


He vanished from her sight, 

And she called her pages in ; 

She sent one this way, and one that ; 

She called her kith and kin, 

Bade one go here, and one go there, 
Despatched them thither, everywhere — 
That from each quarter each might bring 
The oddest names he could to the king. 

Next morning the dwarf appeared, 

And the queen began to say, 

“ Caspar,” “ Balthassar,” “ Melchoir ” — 
But the dwarf cried out, “ Nay, nay ! ” 
Shaking his little crooked frame, 

“ That’s not my name, that’s not my name ! ” 


THE GOLD-SPINNER. 





The second day ’twas the same ; 

But the third a messenger 
Came in from the mountains to the queen, 
And told this tale to her : 

That, riding under the forest boughs, 

He came to a tiny, curious house ; 

Before it a feeble fire burned wan, 

And about the fire was a little man ; 

In and out the brands among, 

Dancing upon one leg, he sung : 

“ To-day I'll stew , and then Til bake , 
To-morrow 1 shall the queen s child take; 

How fine that none is the secret in , 

That my name is Rumpelstiltskm !” 

The queen was overjoyed, 

And when, due time next day, 

The dwarf returned for the final word, 

She made great haste to say : 

“ Is it Conrade ? ” “ No,” — he shook his 

head. 

“ Is it Hans ? or Hal ? ” Still “ No,” he said. 
“ Is it Rumpelstiltskin ? ” then she cried. 

“A witch has told you,” he replied, 

And shrieked and stamped his foot so hard 
That the very marble floor was jarred ; 

And his leg broke off above the knee, 

And he hopped off, howling terribly. 

He vanished then and there, 

And never more was seen ! 

This much was in his dreadful name — 

It saved her child to the queen. 

And the little lady grew to be 
So very sweet, so fair to see, 

That none could her loveliness surpass ; 

And her eyes — they were as gray as glass ! 



A CHILD’S CALENDAR. 


BY CAROLINE METCALF. 



II. 

May ! the leaves are dancing in the sunny air ! 

Ferns uncurl, and blossoms spring up everywhere. 
Sweet the breezes blowing where pink may-flowers 
hide 

Under last year’s leaf-fail on the warm hillside. 


I. 

A PRIL ! summer’s coming ! Now begins the 
year, 

For the snow has melted, and the blue-bird’s here I 
Woolly catkins swinging on the alder-bush 
Whisper, “ Leaves are starting ! we can feel them 
push ! ” 






III. 

June ! why, every June-day is a happy dream ! 
Buttercups and daisies, strawberries and cream ! 
Hush ! hid in the clover, would 3^011 ever think 
All that glee could come from just one bobo- 
link ? 



V. 

August ! fire-flies brighten when the daylight fails ; 
In the swampy meadows grow the tall “ cats- 
tails ; ” 

By the shady brookside who can feel the heat, 
While the water ripples over naked feet ? 





IV. 

July ! off at sunrise picking blackberries ! 
Climbing after birds’-nests up the tallest trees ! 

“ Helping ” in the haying ! On the pond afloat, 
Hunting water-lilies in a leaky boat/ 





VIII. 

Gray skies in November bring the first light snow ; 
Whirling softly downward see the white flakes 
go! 

In dear grandma’s kitchen peering, eager eyes 
Spy out “ Such a turkey! such Thanksgiving 
pies ! ” 


VII. 

Jolly, crisp October! Then the chestnut-burrs 
Rattle down like hail-stones if the least wind stirs ! 
Gold and crimson leaf-showers from the tree-tops fall, 
Squirrels scamper gaily o’er the old stone wall ! 


VI. 

Wild grapes in September tempt to climbs and 
leaps ; 

In the fragrant orchard apples lie in heaps. 

’R-oynd the cider-presses, thronging with the bees, — 
“ Don’t it taste like honey, sucked through straws 
like these ? ” 





# 






IX. 

“ Christmas ! ” cries December. “ How the stockings 
look 

Loaded down with bundles in the chimney-nook ! ” 
Tumbling up at day-break out of downy beds — 

“ Santa knew we wanted iust these skates and 
sleds ! ” 



XI. ' 

February hurries. Only twenty-eight 
Days of wintry weather ! ’Tisn’t long to wait. 
Icicles, a-dropping, shattered lie in rows ; 

Poor old Winter’s white coat many a brown patch 
shows. 



X. 

January’s buried in a great snow-fall ; 

On with coat and mittens ! out to slide and ball ! 
Merry sleigh-bells jingle in the frosty air, 

And the grand ice-palace rises white and fair. 



XII. 



March! has Winter vanished? Hear the rivers 
rush ! 

Brooklets run and ripple ! Snow is turned tc 
slush ! 

Wading through the door-yards, in big rubbei 
boots, 

You may catch Spring peeping out — in crocus 
shoots ! 




T HE war in the East had ended ; 

Its terrors were past, they said ; 
There was peace, once more, for the living, 
And peace for the valiant dead. 


Through the splendid squares of Lucknovr 
The Highlanders marched again ; 

The heroes of fortress and jungle, 

Brave Havelock’s peerless men ! 


Ay ! open your gates, O Lucknow ! — 
But measure, ye guards, your breath, 
As ye think of those days, an hundred, 
When Havelock marched with death. 



They had freed the beleaguered city, 
Fought step by .step through the vale ; 
And swept from the shore of the Ganges 
Forever the Sepoy’s trail. 


Then welcome them back with rejoicing, 
O minaret, tower and shrine ! 

For these are the men who saved you, 
Whose glory outlasteth thine ! 



Through the streets swept the colors ot England, 
Borne proudly aloft on the air ; 

While the “ throne land of Rama ” re-echoed 
The Christian’s thanksgiving and prayer. 


Of tne pain, the hunger, the thirsting, 
The death in the jungle’s gloom ; 
The rescue of woman and children, 
Threatened with direful doom. 



And blithest of all were the pipers, 

Their tartan plaids streaming in pride, 

As they woke, on the banks of the Goomtee, 
The airs of the Doon and Clyde. 

Then the heart of one beautiful woman 
Was stirred by an impulse sweet, 

As she thought of the long, forced marches, 
The weary and blood-stained feet ; 


And she said, “ I will spread them a banquet, 
With a touch of the homeland cheer, 

And the welcome their mothers would give them ; 
Afar in the heatherlands dear. 

“ Not for twice twelve months have they tasted 
A simple cupful of tea ! 

I will serve it to-day for the heroes 
Who periled their lives for me 1 


“ Bid them come to the courts of the Mission ! ” 
Gay awnings were hastily hung ; 

While on tripods of curious fashion, 

The teakettles merrily swung ; 


Swung and sung songs of the homeland ; 

Familiar and sweet were the tunes, 

As if winds of the loch and the mountain 
Blew soft through the Indian noons. 


At the old gray gate of the Mission, 
’Neath turret and watchtowers high, 
Where the dusk-eyed Indian Princess 
Had dreamed in the days gone by, 



She fastened the tartan of Scotland 

With the thistle-bloom over her breast ; 
And her own little winsome daughter 
In the bonny bright plaid she drest. 


This fair-faced, brave-hearted woman, 
A stranger from lands of the West, 
To the ancient palace and gardens 
Welcomed each war-worn guest. 



And with Highland bonnets uplifted, 
There under the Hindoo palm, 
The soldiers of Havelock listened 
To the Hebrew’s glorious psalm : 


Served with the grace and the bounty 
Of royal fete and of feast, 

To the tattered and smoke-grimed heroes, 
In halls of the storied East. 



Note. — This incident was related to the 
author by Dr. William Butler, American Mis- 
sionary in India during the Sepoy Rebellion. 

The event occurred when Havelock’s Bri- 
gade had returned to Lucknow, to take up 
their line of march for the Afghan frontier. 


“ Thou wentest before thy people, 
And kings of armies did flee ! ” 
Then merrily under the shadows 
They drank of the fragrant tea, 


And many a battle-scarred soldier 
Let fall from a glistening eye 
Hot tears on the hand of his hostess 
For whom he had thought to die. 


And for her was the Highlander’s blessing 
Breathed low in that tenderer scene 
When the pipers, proud in their places, 
Played grandly — “God save the Queen!” 


ALADDIN. 
_ 



I SEE a little group about my chair, 
Lovers of stories all ! 

First, Saxon Edith, of the corn-silk hair, 
Growing so strong and tall ; 

Then little brother, on whose sturdy face 
Soft baby dimples fly, 

As fear or pleasure give each other place 
When wonders multiply ; 


Then, close at hand, on lowly haunches 
With pricked-up, tasseled ear, 

Is Tony, little clear-eyed spaniel pet, 
Waiting, like them, to hear. 


1 say I have no story — all are told ! 

Not to be daunted thus, 

They only crowd more confident and bold, 
And laugh, incredulous. 


Then Gold-locks — summers nine their goldenest 
Have showered on her head, 

And tinted it, of all the colors best, 

Warm robin-red-breast red ; 


And so, remembering how, once on a time, 
I, too, loved such delights, 

I choose this one, and put it into rhyme, 
From the “ Arabian Nights.” 



A poor little lad was Aladdin ! 

His mother was wretchedly poor ; 

A widow, who scarce ever had in 

Her cupboard enough of a store 
To frighten the wolf from the door. 

No doubt he was quite a fine fellow 

For the country he lived in — but, ah ! 
His skin was a dull, dusky yellow, 

And his hair was as long as ’twould grow. 
CTis the fashion in China, you know. ) 


But however he looked, or however 

He fared, a strange fortune was his. 

None of you, dears, though fair-faced and clever. 
Can have anything like to this, 

So grand and so marvellous it is ! 

Well, one day — for so runs the tradition — 
While idling and lingering about 
The low city streets, a Magician 

From Africa, swarthy and stout, 

With his wise, prying eyes spied him out, 



/vnd went u\y{ o him very politely, 

And ask* . what his name was and cried : 
“ My lacV if l judge of you rightly, 

Yoi/re the son of my brother who died — 
poor Mustafa ! ” — and he sighed. 

u Ah, yes, Mustafa was my father,” 

Aladdin cried back, “ and he’s dead !” 

“ Well, then, both yourself and your mother 
I will care for forever,” he said, 

It , “And you never shall lack wine nor bread.” 


AL/DDIN. 




And thus did the wily old wizard 
Deceive with his kindness the two 
For a deed of dark peril and hazard 
He had for Aladdin to do, 

At the risk of his life, too, he knew. 



Far dow n in the earth’s very centre 

There burned a strange lamp at a shrine ; 
Great stones marked the one place to enter ; 
Down under t’was dark as a mine ; 

What further — no one could divine l 

And that was the treasure Aladdin 

Was sent to secure. First he tore 
The huge stones away, for he had in 

An instant the strength of a score ; 

Then he stepped through the cavern-like. 


Down, down, through the darkness so chilly ! 

On, on, through the long galleries i 
Coming now upon gardens of lilies, 

And now upon fruit-burdened trees, 
Filled full of the humming of bees. 


But, ah, should one tip of his finger 

Touch aught as he passed, it was death l 
Not a fruit on the boughs made him linger, 

Nor the great heaps of gold underneath, 
door. But on he fled, holding his breath, 



Until he espied, brightly burning, 

The mystical lamp in its place 1 
He plucked the hot wick out, and, turning, 

With triumph and joy in his face, 

Set out his long way retrace. 

At last he saw where daylignf shed a 

Soft ray through a chink overhead, 

Where the crafty Magician was ready 

To catch the first sound of his tread. 

“ Reach the lamp up to me, first ! ’ he said. 

. Aladdin with luck had grown bolder, 

And he cried, “ Wait a bit, and we’ll see 1 ” 
Then with huge, ugly push of his shoulder, 

And with strong, heavy thrust of his knee, 
The wizard — so angry was he — 


Aladdin. 



Pried up the great rock, rolled it over 

The door with an oath and a stamp ; 
“ Stay there under that little cover, 

And die of the mildew and damp,” 
He shouted, “ or give me the lamp ! ” 


Aladdin saw darkness fall o’er him ; 

He clutched at the lamp in his hand, 

And, happening to rub it, before him 

A Genius stood, stately and grand. 

Whence he came he could not understand. 

“ I obey you,” it said, “ and whatever 

Y ou ask for, or wish, you shall have ! 
Rub the lamp but the least bit soever, 

It calls me, for I am its slave ! 
Aladdin said, “ Open this cave ! ” 


He was freed from the place in a minute ; 

And he rubbed once again : “ Take me home ! 
Home he was. And as blithe as a linnet 

Rubbed again for the Genius with : “ Come, 
I am dying for food; get me some ! ” 


Thus at first he but valued his treasure 
Because simple wants it supplied. 
Grown older it furnished him pleasure ; 

And then it brought riches beside ; 
And, at last, it secured him his bride, 


Now the Princess most lovely of any 

Was Badroulboudour, ( what a name ! ) 
Who, though sought for and sued for by many, 
No matter how grandly they came, 

Yet merrily laughed them to shame, 


Until with his riches and splendor, 

Aladdin as lover enrolled ! 

For the first thing he did was to send her 
Some forty great baskets of gold, 

And all the fine gems they would hold. 


Then he built her a palace, set thickly 

With jewels at window and door; 
And all was completed so quickly 

She saw bannered battlements soar 
Where was nothin" an hour before. 


ALADDIN. 



Him she wedded. They lived without trouble 
As long as the lamp was their own ; 

But qne day, like the burst of a bubble, 

The palace and Princess were gone ; 
Without wings to fly they had flown ! 

And Aladdin, dismayed to discover 

That the lamp had been stolen away, 
Bent all of his strength to recover 

The treasure, ar^d day after day, 

He journeyed this way and that way ; 


With a shrewdness which would have done credit 
To even a Yankee boy, he 
Sought the lamp where the wizard had hid it, 

And, turning a mystical key, 

Brought it forth, and then, rubbing with glee, 

“ Back to China ! ” he cried. In a minute 
The marvellous palace uprose, 

With the Princess Badroulboudour in it 
Unruffled in royal repose, 

With her jewels and cloth-of-gold clothes ; 


And at last, after terrible hazard, 

After many a peril and strife, 

He found that the vengeful old wizard, 

Who had made the attempt on his life, 
Had stolen lamp, princess and wife. 


And with gay clouds of banners and towers, 

With its millions of slaves, white and black. 
It was borne by obedient Powers, 

As swift as the wind on its track, 

And ere one could count ten it was back ' 


And ever thereafter, Aladdin 

Clung close to the lamp of his fate, 
Whatever the robe he was clad in, 

Or whether he fasted or ate ; 

And at all hours, early and late ! 
Right lucky was Lord Aladdin l 


0 



jrs U Saw ("he pretty 
^ plaything peep* 


^tVUT the elf was in such a trouble ! 

Aye wandering up and down, 

He was searching here and searching there, 
With the tears on his cheek of brown. 


pr Decorated 


jnc 


WHERE is my bell,” sighed the Brownie, 
“ My sweet, sweet silver bell, 

That tinkled and swung from my scarlet cap, 
Now who in the world can tell ? ” 


shepherd boy Fritz, next morning, 
Driving his wandering sheep 
’Mid the scattered stones of the Giants’ graves, 
Saw the pretty plaything peep 


• the plain in the island of Riigen 
^ Danced the delicate fairy folk, 
And the tiny bell from the tiny cap 
Its curious fastening broke. 


.SPARKLING among the heather, 

^ And fastened it on to himself ; 

For how could he know that the bell belonged 
To an underground little elf ? 


” NMW " 






r 



*-r^- 

'■ *&-*■ ... .> 

Over the rtalw" '*^. 


(SJTOR while it was missing no slumber 
Might visit the fairy’s eyes, 

Still must he sleepless fill the air 
With mournful wails and cries. 


^pHEN he changed his shape to a beautiful 
And over the land he flew, [bird, 

Over the waters of Ralov, 

And the fields of green Unruh. 


WHO has borne off my treasure 
^ From the ground where it did lie ? 


H E searched the nests of all the birds, 

He talked with them, great and small, 




•1 


frjHHE bird flew over. The sheep bells, 
■^1 Soft tinkling, sounded low ; 

The wee fay thought of his talisman lost, 
And warbled sad and slow : 


\w 



jHEN he drew forth from his pocket 
The treasure that he had found, 
And the magic silver rang out clear 
With a keen, delicious sound. 


|HE sprite in the bird’s shape heard it, 
And fairly shook with delight, 
Dropped down behind a bush near by, 

Hid safely out of sight, 


tojWIFT drew off his dress of feathers, 
— 1 And took the shape of a crone 
Who hobbled up to the shepherd lad, 
And spake in a coaxing tone : 


fJJOOD even, good friend, good even ! 

What a charming bell you ring ! 
I’d like such an one for my grandson — 
Will you sell me the pretty thing ? ” 



[O, no, for there isn’t another 

In the whole wide world so fine ; 
My sheep will follow its tinkle, 

And ask for no other sign. 


LISTEN ! Can any sorrow 
Hold out against such a tone ? 
The weariest hour ’twill ring away, 
And conquer a heart of stone.” 



^HE old dame offered him money, 
*T A glittering golden heap, 

But Fritz stood firm ; “ Nay, nay,” he said, 
“ My sweet, sweet bell I’ll keep.’ 




EN a shepherd staff she showed him, 

Most beautiful to see, ™ 

snow-white wood all wrought and carved : 

Take this and the bell give me. 



& ^*0 long as you guide your cattle 

With this, you will surely thrive, 
And all good fortune will follow 
Wherever your flocks you drive.” 


rHE reached him the stick. Her gesture 
So mystic, bewitched him quite, 

So strange and lovely her dazzling smile, 
He was blind in its sudden light. 


E stretched out his hand, and, “ Take it, 
The bell for the staff,” he cried. 

^ l Like a light breeze over the fields and trees 
The old crone seemed to glide. 


HE was gone like the down of a thistle, 
| Or as mists with the wind that blend, 

And a tiny whir, like a whistle thin, 

Set all his hair on end. 



r1 pHE staff was his, but the bell was gone, 
Spirited quite away; 

Fritz looked at his prize with doubtful eyes — 
But who so glad as the fay ? 


A ND he kept his fairy promise, 

* * And Fortune to Fritz was kind, 
For all his labors prospered, 

And all things worked to his mind. 


A T last he was able to purchase 
A Knight’s estate, and became 
A nobleman stately and gracious, 
With a loved and honored name. 


'nEFORE he was eighteen, mark you 
His flocks were his own to keep, 
And soon in the island of Riigen 


^OW wouldn’t you like, little people, 
Such a fairy treasure to find ? 

Pick up from the grass such a magic bell, 
And meet with a Brownie so kind ? 




THE SLEEPING PRINCESS, 



And for them the king had seven dishes 
Made out of the best red gold, 

Set thickly round on the sides and covers 
With jewels of price untold. 

When the day of the christening came, the bugles 
Blew forth their shrillest notes; 

Drums throbbed, and endless lines of soldiers 
Filed past in scarlet coats. 



And the fairies were there the king had bidden, 
Bearing their gifts of good — 

But right in the midst a strange old woman 
Surly and scowling stood. 

They knew her to be the old, old fairy, 

All nose and eyes and ears, 

Who had not peeped, till now, from her dungeon 
For more than fifty years. 

Angry she was to have been forgotten 

Where others were guests, and to find 
That neither a seat nor a dish at the banquet 
To her had been assigned. 


THE SLEEPING PRINCESS. 


Now came the hour for the gift-bestowing ; 

And the fairy first in place 
Touched with her wand the child and gave her 
“ Beauty of form and face ! ” 


Fairy the second bade, “ Be witty ! ” 

The third said, “ Never fail ! 

The fourth, “ Dance well ! ” and the fifth, “ O Princess, 
Sing like the nightingale ! ” 


m The sixth gave, “Joy in the heart forever ! ” 
But before the seventh could speak, 
The crooked, black old Dame came forward, 
And, tapping the baby’s cheek, 

“You shall prick your finger upon a spindle, 
And die of it ! ” she cried. 

All trembling were the lords and ladies, 

And the king and queen beside. 

But the seventh fairy interrupted, S|}| 

“ Do not tremble nor weep ! 

\ That cruel curse I can change and soften, 

And instead of death give sleep ! 


1 1 
i 


| But the sleep, though I do my best and kindest, , 
Must last for an hundred years ! ” 

On the king’s stern face was a dreadful pallor, 

In the eyes of the queen were tears. 

J jjjjft “ Yet after the hundred years are vanished,’ 
The fairy added beside, — 

‘ A Prince of a noble line shall find her, 
And take her for his bride.” 


But the king, with a hope to change the future, 

Proclaimed this law to be : 

That, if in all the land there was kept one spindle, 
Sure death was the penalty. 


THE SLEEPING PRINCESS. 



And one day, in her father’s summer palace, 
As blithe as the very air, 

She climbed to the top of the highest turret, 
Over an old worn stair 


And there in the dusky cobwebbed garret, 
Where dimly the daylight shone, 

A little, doleful, hunch-backed woman 
Sat spinning all alone. 


“ O Goody,” she cried, “ what are you doing ? ’ 
“ Why, spinning, you little dunce ! ” 
The Princess laughed : “ ’Tis so very funny, 
lit Pray let me try it once ! ” 


With a careless touch, from the hand of Goody 
She caught the half-spun thread, 

And the fatal spindle pricked her finger ! 
Down fell she as if dead ! 


And Goody shrieking, the frightened courtiers 
Climbed up the old worn stair 
Only to find, in heavy slumber, 

The Princess lying there. 


They bore her down to a lofty chamber, 
They robed her in her best, 

And on a couch of gold and purple 
They laid her for her rest, 


The roses upon her cheek still blooming, 

And the red still on her lips, 

While the lids of her eyes, like night-shut lilies 
Were closed in white eclipse. 


Then the fairy who strove her fate to alter 
From the dismal doom of death, 
Now that the vital hour impended, 

Came hurrying in a breath. 


And then about the slumbering palace 
The fairy made up-spring 
\ wood so heavv and dense that never 


Grvnlrl pnlpr n livinp- thine 1 '. 


The Princess grew, from her very cradle 
Lovely and witty and good ; 

And at last, in the course of years, had blossomed 
Into full sweet maidenhood. 


THE SLEEPING PRINCESS. 



And there for a century the Princess 
Lay in a trance so deep 

That neither the roar of winds nor thunder 
Could rouse her from her sleep. 

1'hen at last one day, past the long-enchanted 
Old wood, rode a new king’s son, 

Who, catching a glimpse of a royal turret 
Above the forest dun 

Felt in his heart a strange wL » .• for exploring 
The thorny and briery place, 

And, lo, a path through the deepest thicket 
Opened before his face 1 

On, on he went, till he spied a terrace, 

And further a sleeping guard, 

And rows of soldiers upon their carbines 
Leaning, and snoring hard. 

Up the broad steps ! The doors swung backward 
The wide halls heard no tread ! 

Cut a lofty chamber, opening, showed him 
A gold and purple bed. 

And there in her beauty, warm and glowing, 

The enchanted Princess lay ! 

While only a word from his lips was needed 
To drive her sleep away. 


She was the bride who for years an hundred 
Had waited for him to come, 

And now that the hour was here to claim her. 
Should eyes or tongue be dumb ? 


The Princess blushed at his royal wooing, 
Bowed “yes” with her lovely head, 
And the chaplain, yawning, but very lively, 
Came in and they were wed ! 


He spoke the word, and the spell was scattered, 
The enchantment broken through ! 
The lady woke. “Dear Prince,” she murmured, 
u How long I have waited for you ! ” 

Then at once the whole great slumbering palace 
Was wakened and all astir ; 

Yet the Prince, in joy at the Sleeping Beauty, 
Could only look at her. 


But about the, dress of the happy Princess, 
I have my woman’s fears — 

It must have grown somewhat old-fashioned 
In the course of so many years ! 


THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS. 


THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS. 


By Clara Doty Bates. 


A N old gray goose walked forth with pride, 
With goslings seven at her side ; 

A lovely yellowish-green they were, 

And very dear to her. 

She led them to the river’s brink 
To paddle their feet awhile and drink, 

And there she heard a tale that made 
Her very soul afraid. 


“You will know him by his voice so hoarse, 
By his paws so hairy and black and coarse.’’ 
And the goslings piped up, clear and shrill, 

“ We’ll take great care, we will.” 

The mother thought them wise, and went 
To the far-off forest quite content; 

But she was scarcely away, before 
There came a rap at the door. 



So, when, as usual, to the wood 
She went next day in search of food, 
She warned them over and over, before 
She turned to shut the door: 


“Open, open, my children dear,” 

A gruff voice cried : “your mother is here.” 
But the young ones answered, “No, no, no, 
Her voice is sweet and low; 


“ My little ones, if you hear a knock 
At the door, be sure and not unlock, 
For the wolf will eat you, if he gets in, 
Feathers and bones and skin. 


“And you are the wolf — so go away. 

You can’t get in, if you try all day.” 

He laughed to himself to hear them talk* 
And wished he had some chalk. 


THE WOLF AND THE GOSLINGS . 


To smooth his voice to a tone like geese ; 

So he went to the merchant’s and bought a piece, 
And hurried back, and rapped once more. 
“Open, open the door, 


The miller was pleased, and said “ All right ; 
Would you like your cap and jacket white ? ” 
At that he opened a flour bin 

And playfully dipped him in. 



“I am your mother, dears,” he said. 
But up on the window ledge he laid, 

In a careless way, his great black paw, 
And this the goslings saw. 


He floundered and sneezed a while, then, lo, 
He crept out white as a wolf of snow. 

“ If chalk and flour can make me sweet,” 

He said, “ then I’m complete.” 


“ No, no,” they called, “that will not do, 
Our mother has not black hands like you ; 
For you are the wolf, so go away, 

You can’t get in to-day.” 


For the third time back to the house he went, 
And looked and spoke so different, 

That when he rapped, and “ Open ! ” cried, 
The little ones replied, 


The baffled wolf to the old mill ran, 
Aid whined to the busy miller man : 

* I love to hear the sound of the wheel 
And to smell the corn and meal.” 



“If you show us nice clean feet, we > will.” 

And straightway, there on the window-sill 
His paws were laid, with dusty meal 
Powdered from toe to heel. 

Yes, they were white ! So they let him in, 

And he gobbled them all up, feathers and skin, 
Gobbled the whole, as if ’twere fun, 

Except the littlest one. 


7 HE WOLE AND THE GOSLINGS. 


An old clock stood there, tick, tick, tick. 
And into that he had hopped so quick 
The wolf saw nothing, and fancied even 
He’d eaten all the seven. 




She called out tenderly every name, 

But never a voice in answer came, 

Till a little frightened, broad-billed face 
Peered out of the clock-case. 

This gosling told his tale with grief, 

And the gray goose sobbed in her handkerchief. 
And sighed— “Ah, well, we will have to go 
And let the neighbors know.” 


So clown they went to the river’s brim, 

Where their feathered friends were wont to swim, 
And there on the turf so green and deep 
The old wolf lay asleep. 


But six were enough to satisfy ; 

So out he strolled on the grass to lie. 
And when the gray goose presently 
Came home — what did she 
see? 




Alas, the house door open wide, 

But no little yellow flock inside; 

The beds and pillows thrown about; 

The fire all gone out; 

The chairs and tables overset; 

The wash-tub spilled, and the floor all wet; 
Auto here ard there in cinders black, 

The great wolf’s ugly track. 


He had a grizzly, savage look, 

And he snored till the boughs above him shook 
They tiptoed round him — drew quite near, 

Yet still he did not hear. 

linen, as the mother gazed, to her 
It seemed she could see his gaunt side stir — 
Stir and squirm, as if under the skin 
Were something alive within ! 


THE WOLE AND THE GOSLINGS. 


“ Go back to the house, quick, dear,” she said, 
“ And fetch me scissors and needle and thread. 
I’ll open his ugly hairy hide, 

And see what is inside.” 

She snipped with the scissors a criss-cross slit, 
And well rewarded she was for it, 

For there were her goslings — six together — 
With scarcely a rumpled feather 1 


“What’s this rumbling and tumbling? 
What’s this rattling like bones ? 

I thought I’d eaten six small geese, 

But they’ve turned out only stones.” 

He bent his neck to lap — instead, 

He tumbled in, heels over head ; 

And so heavy he was, as he went down 
He could not help but drown ! 



The wolf had eaten so greedily, 

He had swallowed them all alive, you see. 
So, one by one, they scrambled out, 

And danced and skipped about. 


Then the gray goose got six heavy stones, 
And placed them in between the bones ; 

She sewed him deftly, with needle and thread, 
And then with her goslings fled. 

The wolf slept long and hard and late, 

And woke so thirsty he scarce could wait. 

So he crept along to the river’s brink 
To get a good cool drink. 


But the stones inside began to shake, 

And make his old ribs crack and ache ; 

And the gladsome flock, as they sped away, 
Could hear him groan, and say : — 


And after that, in thankful pride, 

With goslings seven at her side, 

The gray goose came to the river’s brink 
Each day to swim and drink. 



By Susan Coolidge. 


T HE long clay’s tasks were neatly done, 
The milk pail scoured, the milk set by. 
And Ursel at the set of sun 

Stood wistfully her mistress nigh. 

The Dame was stern, the Dame was shrewd. 
So all the neighbors were agreed, 

Thrifty and sharp in word and mood. 

But kindly still and just of deed. 

She glanced at Ursel’s braided hair. 

She watched the color come and flit 
On the young cheek so round and fair, 

And well she knew the cause of it. 

And smiling at the little maid, 

“ You have worked well and had no play, 
And been a steady lass,” she said, 

“ Now you shall have a holiday. 


5 ) 



“ To-morrow Mothering Sunday is 
When children to their parents go, 

Each with a gift for her, or his, 

And you shall have a gift also. 

“The small round cheese I bade you make, 
The pat of butter on the shelf, 

The crusty loaf you saw me bake — 

These you shall carry home yourself. 


“ I mind me how, a lass like you 
With such a basket on my arm, 

I hied me home, as you shall do 
On Mothering Day, to the old farm. 



The Dame at window overhead 

Watched the girl go with joyous speed ; 
“ Mothers are happy folk,” she said, 

“ Mothers are lucky folk indeed.” 


“ And how my mother — rest her soul ! 

She has been dead these forty years ” — 

The Dame’s voice shook beyond control, 
She could not see the fire for tears. 

But little Ursel’s cheeks were red, 

Her heart was bounding light and gay ; 

“ Oh, thank you, thank you, Dame,” she said, 
And quietly she stole away. 

The morning’s dawn was clear and fair, 

And Ursel rose before the sun ; 

She neatly bound her long bright hair, 

And did her morning tasks, each one. 

She made her ready for the road, 

She tied her shoes and Sunday hat, 

And in a basket she bestpwed 
The bread-loaf and fhe butter-pat. 



Across the moor four distant miles, 

At the same time a lad set forth, 

With clean-washed face all lit with smiles; 
He headed south and Ursel north. 

His holiday was hard to gain, 

His surly master cared no whit 

For Mothering Sunday, and in vain 
The boy had urged his wish for it ; 

Until at last the farmer’s wife, 

With pity touched, had won consent ; 

And glad as never in his life 

The shepherd boy arose and went. 

He bore no gift, poor little lad, 

His wage was naught but clothes and food, 

But mother would, he knew, be glad, 

And count his coming as a good. 


Northward ran Ursel o’er the fell, 

Southward the shepherd fleeter yet, 

And half-way by a roadside well 
The brother and the sister met. 

Both clapped their hands in gladsome wise ; 

Long months had, since they met, gone by; 
Tears shone in Ursel’s happy eyes, 

But manly Robin scorned to cry. 








Iff If H 


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lull it., y > ♦ •■/V.' -A A . ■ 


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They danced adown the lower hill, 

Threaded the copse and crossed the brook, 
’Till Ursel suddenly stood still, 

Crying, “ O Robin ! Robin ! Look ! ” 

There, in a sheltered hollow set, 

Couched shyly by a mossy stone, 

They saw the earliest violet 

All purple sweet and fully blown. 

“Your gift?” she cried, “and best of all, 

The proverb runs, that you could bring : 

It says that ‘ Violets shall befall 


“ Have you no gift for mother brought ? ” 
She asked ; her brother shook his head ; 
“ Nothing with nothing can be bought, 
How could I bring one ? ” Robin said. 

“You shall share mine then,” Ursel cried, 
“ It shall be gift from both us twain.” 
And hand in hand, and side by side, 

They hastened on their way again. 



Their mother at the doorway stood, 

Her hearth was swept all cleanly bright. 
She looked to moor, she looked to wood, 
Shading her eyes against the light. 

She saw the youthful figures dawn 
Dark shapes against the shining sky, 
And as they rapidly came on 
Contentment filled the mother’s eye : 


And it was, “You have grown, my lass,” 
And it was, “welcome home, dear lad, 
As laughing, chattering, in they pass 
With lightsome steps and kisses glad. 


The yellow simnels shone like gold, 
The frumenty was spiced and hot, 
The children feasted as of old, 

The mother too — though eating not. 


Ah ! sweet old Mothering Holiday 
Which bound the ties of kindred fast, 
Lost and forgotten in our day — 

What pity that it could not last ! 


the fairy flag 

(A Skye Folk-lore Story.) 


By Mary E. Wilkins. 


B EYOND the purple gloom of moors, 
Beyond the blueness of the sea, 

B yond the range of chalk-white cliffs, 

The sun was setting peacefully. 

The fairy, on a grassy knoll, 

Sat dreaming, singing to the cows: 

“ Knee-deep in clumps of plumy ferns , 

Knee-deep in rustling grasses browse! 

“ The chieftain slays his foeman's clan , 

The lady dividers in the hall; 

I sit here singing to the cows , 

And am the gayest otie of all! 

“ Now of the clumps of spicy fern, 

Now of the juicy grasses taste ! ” 

. The fairy wore a grass-gre^p gown, 

With golden girdle at her waist; 

Her winsome little face upturned, 

Her soft gold hair all round her streamed ; 
Her small pink cheeks like roses burned, 

Her wild blue eyes like jewels beamed. 


She struck a little harp o’ pearl, 

As to the browsing kine she sung: 
All lightly o’er the fairy bridge 
Beyond, a bonnie laddie sprung. 


He had Prince Charlie’s yellow locks, 
His gay blue eyes and lovesome waj . 
Macleod’s little son he was — 

The castle just beyond him lay. 



The laddie turned him round to see; 

She lifted up her little face, 

And sweet, and sweet, and sweet, smiled she. 



She kissed the laddie’s blushing cheek, 
And all the air grew sweet around, 

As if a million flowers bloomed out — 

And than she vanished from the ground. 


The laddie thro’ the heather ran, 

His tarran blowing out behind, 

The little fairy, gowned in green, 

Wi’ little harp o’ pearl, to find. 

“ And since you are a mortal bairn, 

And yet have shunned me not,” she said, 
“ A fairy gift I’ll give to thee, 

To-morrow, when the west is red. 

“And since you have a bonny face, 

I’ll give to thee a fairy kiss, 

To take the bitter from thy woe, 

And add a sweetness to thy bliss.” 




The western sky all roses was, 

And round “Macleod’s Maiden’s” feet 
Foam-wreaths to wreaths of roses turned. 
The fairy lilted loud and sweet ; 


The flag was green as springtide sward 
What time the sun upon it lies, 

And shot with threads of glittering gold, 
And filled with spots of gold, like eyes. 


The laddie o’er the fairy bridge, 

Came running lightly to her side: 

“ And have you brought the fairy gift 
You promised me last night ? ” he cried. 


She put it in the laddie’s hand : 

“ Once waved, ’twill bring thee thy desire, 
And twice, and thrice — but not again; 

Then cast it, worthless, in the fire ! ” 


A shadow o’er her gown o’ green, 
A shadow o’er her winsome face, 
A shadow o’er her golden hair, 
Came softly creeping on apace. 




The laddie held the fairy flag, 

Alone in twilight gray and cold ; 

And stood and looked, his wond’ring eyes 
All filled with dancing motes of gold. 


The laddie’s yellow beard had grown ; 

He’d wedded with a lady fair ; 

And he had got a little son, 

With his same bonnie yellow hair. 


And alway had the fairy’s kiss, 

She gave to him so long ago, 
Added a sweetness to his bliss, 

And ta’en the bitter from his woe. 



But never yet the fairy flag 
.Had waved upon the castle wall ; 
For with his stalwart arm and sword, 
His troubles he had breasted all. 


“Oh, where’s my little laddie gone?” 

The lady left her ’broidery frame ; 
Through every castle window peered, 
With tearful eyes, the gentle dame. 


Macleod called his followers out, 

And loud the castle trumpets blew : 
“ Macleod’s heir is strayed awa’, 

And on the heather falls the dew. 


“And on the heather falls the dew; 

Shadows are floating o’er the sea. 
Oh, where’s my little laddie gone ? — 
I pray ye bring him back to me ! ” 


They searched along the chalk-white cliffs, 
Upon the dizzy hanging paths; 

They sought him on their breezy tops, 
Along the strips of grassy straths. 




They called “Macleod ” down the hill; 

They called “Macleod” down the vale; 
They hailed the shepherd with his flock, 
The maiden with her milking-pail. 


They searched Uunvergan castle thro’ ; 

Each dungeon in the thick stone wall 
They peered in — but they only found 
The prisoned foemen, grim and tall. 


lis mother looked out o’er the sea, 

To where “ Macleod’s Maidens ” stand, 
'o see, above the foam-wreaths, rise 
His yellow head and waving hand. 


The laddie came not ; and the moon 
With all the stars sailed out in sight ; 
« Macleod’s Tables,” tops of snow, 
Were cloth of silver in her light 


“ Bring out, bring out the fairy flag! 

I’ll wave it from the topmost tower ! 
There’ll come no direr need than this — 
Macleod’s race has lost its flower!” 



Macleod waved the fairy flag; 

It looked a net of golden wire ; 

Its streaks of gold and spots of gold, 

All linked and curled like tongues of fire. 



There came a twang o’ pearlie harp, 
There came a lilting loud and sweet ; 
And softly o’er the fairy bridge 

There came the dance o’ slender feet. 


All day the chief had held the field, 
Nor quailed until the sun sank low; 
His followers, bleeding, round him lay, 
And he was hemmed in by the foe. 


There danced along the fairy bridge 
A spot i’ the golden light apace ; 
The laddie at the castle gate 
Stood lifting up his bonnie face. 


“ Oh, life is sweet ! ” Macleod thought 
“ I love my bairn and lady dear : 

I’ll wave again the fairy flag — 

Oh, will it bring me succor here ! ” 



“ Oh, I ha’ wandered by the burn, 
And I ha’ wandered by the glen ; 

A little leddy all in green,” 

He said, “ has led me home again.” 


Macleod waved the fairy flag — 

His foemen reeled back at the sight; 
For in their cruel eyes there danced 
Great spots and bars of golden light. 


Macleod furled the fairy flag : 

“Ye’ve served me once in blessed stead — 
But sorely I’ll be pressed again 

Ere I will wave ye twice ! ” he said. 


There came a twang o’ pearlie harp, 
There came a lilting loud and sweet : 
Macleod’s foemen turned and fled, 

The hills all rang with flying feet. 


Macleod furled the fairy flag : 

“ Ye’ve served me twice in blessed stead 
But I shall in the churchyard lie 
Ere I will wave ye thrice ! ” he said. 


The hand that waved the fairy flag, 
The lips the fairy kissed, are still : 
Macleod in the churchyard lies, 

And deaf to lilting sweet and shrill. 



But still his kin in misty Skye 
The fairy flag in keeping hold ; 

And sometime from the castle wall 
May flash its spots and bars of gold. 


“ For if I thrice should wave the flag, 

And thrice should get my heart’s desire 
Next day might come a sorer need, 

When it was ashes in the fire.” 


Macleod kept his word : he fought 
For life on many a bloody plain, 
He tossed in peril on the sea, 

Nor waved the fairy flag again. 


But dire indeed shall be the need, 
And every other hope be slain, 
Ere a Macleod of the Isle 

Shall wave the fairy flag again. 



L O ! all the world I have conquered, 1 
Glooskap, the Mighty One, said. 
Light laughed an Indian woman, 

Shaking her dark-braided head. 


“ Speak not too swiftly, my master, 
One still unconquered remains — 
Wasis, the Baby, forever 

Lord of the mightiest reigns.” 


Watching the motes in the sunshine, 
Baby sat still on the floor ; 

Glooskap, the mighty magician, 

Gazed through the open door. 

He who had vanquished the storm-bird, 
Binding its wings in the north — 
Ever the wild winds after 

Speeding more gently forth — 


He who could fashion the squirrel 
Little or great, at his will, 

Lord of the bear and the beaver, 
Master of good and ill, 











































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Gazed at the wonderful Baby 
Watching the dancing gold, 

Wondered what magical weapon 
Little brown fingers could hold. 

Happy of heart in the sunshine, 

Wasis, the wonderful Child, 

Sucking the sweets of the maple, 
Looked at the stranger and smiled. 

Glooskap, the mighty magician, 

Wife had known never, nor child, 

Knew not the heart’s tender watchwords 
Wherewith caresses are wiled ; 

Softly he smiled at the Baby, 

Bidding him, gently, come nigh. 

Wasis stirred not from the sunshine, 
Watching the motes dance by. 


Sweet, then, as ’mid summer forest 
Singeth the wee winter wren, 

Spoke unto Wasis, the Strong One, 
Master of beasts and men. 

Unto the Master’s eyes lifted 
Wondering eyes of the child — 

Moved in the sunshine no shadow, 
Wasis sat silent and smiled. 

Then, with a voice as of thunder, 
Under a terrible frown — 

From the fir-trees of the forest 
Falling the brown cones down — 

Glooskap, the mighty magician, 
Spoke his command o’er and o’er. 

Neither the sunshine nor shadow 
Changed on the lodge’s bare floor. 



But from the brown eyes of Wasis 
Rolled the great tears to the floor, 
Rose from the red lips, wide-parted, 
Mighty-voiced, heart-piercing roar. 


Smooth grew the cheeks of the Baby, 
Dry the bright tears in his eyes ; 
Merriest playfellow Glooskap 
Seemed unto Wasis, the wise, 


Who, as the magic grew wilder, 

Still by each spell unbeguiled, 
Sucking his sweet maple sugar, 
Looked at the great chief and smiled. 


Glooskap, the slayer of beaver, 
Wondering, e’er, more and more. 
Wove all the spells of his magic 
Wasis, the unsubdued, o’er ; 


Glooskap, well weary with struggle, 
Sat in the low lodge door; 
Moved not the shadow of Wasis 
Over the sunlit floor. 


Singing the strange, wild music 
Wherewith he conjured the dead, 
Wherewith the dark-hearted spirits 
Up from their caverns he led. 
















Round the red lips of the Baby 
Ripples of laughter o’erflowed ; 
Gazed he, admiring, at Glooskap, 
Goo-goo-e d, and lustily crowed ! 


“ Though of the world I am master, 
One still unconquered remains, 
Wasis, the Baby, forever 
Master of Glooskap reigns.” 


Vain was the strength of the giant 
Never a spell could bind 
Wasis, the unconquered Baby, 
Stronger than sun or wind. 


Still know the Indian women 
Wasis, the wonderful Child, 
And, when the Baby cries goo-goo , 
Unto contentment beguiled, 


“ Well spake the Indian woman.” 

Thoughtfully, Glooskap spoke, 
Kindling his pipe while the Baby 
Smiled at the curling smoke ; 


Crowing, none knowing the reason, 
Softly they say: “ Through his thought 
Runneth the time when o’er Glooskap 
Mightiest conquest he wrought.” 


So, since the world had beginning 
Nothing unconquered remains 
Save only Wasis, the Baby — 
Home’s little master he reigns. 






A T the foot of the Golden Dragon Hill, 
Long ages ago, in a snug little house 
With a roof of dark-brown, velvety thatch, 
There lived an old woodman and his spouse. 


Oh, the n\erry old man to the mountain hied, 
Past young rice-fields in the morning sun, 
Toward the dark fir-trees on the mountain side, 
Standing forth in its silence, every one. 


One morning, his bill-hook the old man took : 

“To the mountain, to cut me a fagot, I’ll hie, 
While you, O Koyo, the linen can wash 
In the river which rushes and gurgles by.” 


From wild camedas and white plum-trees, 

In his twinkling old eyes the spider-webs swung? 
And he merrily brushed by the green bamboos, 
With his bill-hook over his shoulder hung. 



And a uguisu sang in a tall cherry-tree 

As the smiling old wife to the river-side went : 
“ Oh, red is the sun,” she cheerily sang, 

As she patiently over her washing bent 

“ Oh, red is the sun ; and the rice-fields green — 
Now what is that in the river I see ? 

IPs the rosiest peach in the whole of Japan; 
And it’s coming a-floating, a-floating to me 


“Now here is a feast for my darling old man, 
Oh, the Great Shogun not a finer can get ! 
Some stewed lily-bulbs, and this beautiful peach, 
When he comes from toil, before him I’ll set.” 



But just as he took it the peach split in twain, 
And a fat little baby with raven-black hair 
Was cradled right in the heart of the peach, 
And lay a-twinkling and blinking there. 


“ Oh you brave little boy, you shall be our own son ; 

And Momotaro shall have for a name, 

Or Little Peachling, since out of a peach, 

You dear little fellow, this morning you came.” 

The rice-fields blossomed for twenty more years, 
While the gurgling old river amongst them ran; 
For twenty more years grew the slim bamboo, 

And Little Peachling was grown to a man. 


“ Some millet-dumplings pray make for me,” 

To his good foster-mother he said one day, 
“And off to the ogres’ castle I’ll go, 

And the whole of their treasure will bring away. 

“As thick in the ogres’ treasure-vaults 
The jewels are lying as sea-shore sands ; 

With blue snow-gates on the mountain-top, 

The ogres’ castle all proudly stands — 


“ With blue snow-gates that are stronger than steel ; 

But I will enter, and will bring to you 
The wealth from the ogres’ treasure-vaults, 

Hung over with pearls, like flowers with dew.” 


boon down from the mountain the old man came, 
And fast on his back his fagot was bound. 

“ Oh, hasten you, husband,” his loving wife cried, 
“ And taste this beautiful peach that I found ! ” 


“ I have made you the dumplings,” his good mother 
said, 

“ But I fear lest the ogres should do you a harm.’ 
But the Little Peachling danced gayly away, 

With the millet-dumplings under his arm. 



A dog leapt out of a cluster of pines : 

“ And what have you there, Little Peach- 
ling, pray? ” 

“ The best millet-dumplings in all Japan, 
And I’m to the ogres’ castle away.” 


“ Tor one of your dumplings with you I’ll go, 
And the ogres’ castle will help subdue.” 
“Well, you can bark at the castle-gate ; 

So here is a dumpling, friend dog, for you.” 


An ape swung down from a roadside tree : 

“ Kia, kia , what have you, I say?” 

“ The best millet-dumplings in all Japan, 

And I’m to the ogres’ castle away.” 

“ One of your dumplings pray give to me, 

And the ogres’ castle I’ll help subdue.” 

“ Well, you can climb o’er the castle-wall ; 

So here is a dumpling, friend ape, for you.” 

“Ken, ken,” cried a pheasant, “ and what have you 
there, 

Little Peachling, tucked in your girdle, I pray ? ” 
“ The best millet-dumplings in all Japan, 

And I’m to the ogres’ castle away.” 


For one of your dumplings with you I’ll go, 

And the ogres’ castle will help subdue.” 

Well, you can fly o’er the castle-gate ; 

So here is a dumpling, friend pheasant, for you.” 


Oh, the castle stood high on the mountain-top, 
And over its turrets a hurricane blew ; 

But up to its terrible blue snow-gate* 

Little Peachling marched with his retinue. 




~v- 













With the treasures, the dog, the pheasant and ape, 
Little Peachling home to his parents ran ; 

And the old wood-cutter and his loving wife 
Were the happiest couple in all Japan. 


Then the ogres swarmed out on the castle-towers, 
The drums beat loud, and the trumpets brayed, 
And magical arrows came rustling around — 

But our brave little ronin was not afraid. 

For his pheasant flew over the castle-wall, 

And his ape, he undid the castle-gate ; 

And brave Little Peachling, with the barking dog, 
Marched into the ogres’ castle in state. 


H is little dog snapped at the ogres’ heels ; 

His pheasant picked at their round green eyes ; 
And his ape tweaked away at the ogres’ locks, 

As only an ape can do when he tries. 


And the little ronin, around him he laid, 

With his muramasa, so thick and fast, 

That the king of the ogres was prisoner made 
And the ogres’ castle was taken at last. 

Oh measures of pearls and wedges of gold ! 

Oh the jars of musk and the coral-bars ! 
Amber and emeralds, tortoise-shells, 

And diamonds shining like strings of stars ! 

Gold-brocade coats, and wonderful gems 
That regulated the green sea-tide ! 

It’s always the loveliest things in the world 
Which the treasure-castles of ogres hide. 





N this new world, that was waiting when 
The star in the east shone down 

And lighted the steps of the Magian men 
To the inn in Bethlehem town, 

Many a hillside sloped to the sun, 

Or dipped to a shining sea, 

Fair for God’s presence as ever one 
In Judah or Galilee. 

Many a soul that was tarrying then, 

Till centuries should go by, 

To take its place in the line of men, 

To the Lord was just as nigh 

As John, or Mary, or Lazarus 
Who walked with him by the way 

For the blessed sign it should be to us 
That he walks at our side to-day. 

So, lovely with love that hath no compare. 
The very names grew dear ; 

And Marys and Johns were everywhere, ^ 
And Bethels were budded here. ^ 


Deep in the green New England hills, 

In a dimple fair to see, 

With orchards whose fruitage the summer fills, 
Lies a little Bethany. 

And looking Eastward between the farms, 

As over the river you ig o, 

Stately with elms as the old with palms, 

You may see sweet Tericho. 



What wonder that Mary, the little maid, 
Pondering Bible-lore, 

Pictured, wherever her steps had strayed, 
Those marvelous things of yore ? — 

That the darksome hollow beyond the bridge 
Where the pollard willows stood, 

And the steep, rough roadway up the ridge 
In the gloom of the hemlock wood, 

Should seem like the wayside where the thieves 
Beset the traveller-man, 

And left him, all wounded, upon the leaves. 
For the good Samaritan ? 

Or the scathed old pear-tree by the brook, 
That the lightning in the night, 

When the farmhouse with the thunder shook, 
Left ghastly and dead and white, 


Should be to her fancy the fig-tree, bare,. 

Or yielding but bitter and worst, 

That the Lord, when he found it fruitless there, 
With an awful withering cursed ? 


That, scanning the houses far away 
On the hillsides in the sun, 

She questioned, many an innocent day, 
Which was the very one 

Where the brother and sisters sat at meat 
With their friend, when the day was low, 
And Mary lovingly washed the feet 
That had journeyed in mercy so? 



She was Deacon Sternbold’s little maid, 

And her mother was kindly true ; 

Her primer and hymns to her sire she said, 
But her heart the mother knew. 

Helping the dame one Saturday morn 
At the churn, all suddenly she 

Cried, “ Mother, O I wish I’d been born 
Real Mary of Bethany ! 

“Or I wish that Jesus would walk in here, 
And would call me to him, and say, 

With his eyes’ great glory upon me, ‘ Dear, 
Come sit at my feet all day ! 

Sa 

jp J 

1JJU- 


“ And doesn’t he ?” answered the mother sweet 
“ Can you think it except he say ? 

To love Him well is to sit at his feet — 

To serve Him, to bide alway. 

“ Now bring me the tray ; and the spats, and 
Cool in the ice-bowl there ; [prints 

Then finish the seams of your gown of chintz 
That to-morrow you may wear. 

“ And if baby wakes from his long, nice nap, u . 

Just sing him your little song 
While mother’s busy ; the work, mayhap, 

Won’t need to hinder her long.” 

Maid Mary went at the gentle word ; 

Some beautiful inward smile 
Dawning up to her face as if she heard 
More than was spoken, the while. 

For the child’s deep heart was beating still 
With the joy of that saying sweet : 

“To bide with Him is to do His will, 

To love Him, to sit at His feet.” 


So while she fetched the spats and the prints, 
And hastened away to sew 
With ready fingers the gown of chintz, 

She went as the angels go. 




For what could take her with ill surprise, 

Or what could provoke a frown, 

When she knew the glory of Jesus’ eyes 
Was over her, looking down ? 

So Saturday’s nightfall folded the hill 
And the Day of the Sun broke bright ; 

And the good folk gathered, sedate and still, 
In the meetinghouse on the height. 

With her tender secret in her face, 

Maid Mary sat in the pew ; 

The Lord who was here in his Holy Place 
Had been at home with her, too. 


And sitting there by the cradle-side, 
When a comrade lifted the latch 
And eagerly signed to the pasture wide, 
And whispered, “blackberry patch ! ” 


Softly she shook her delicate head, 

But smiled as she did it, too ; 

Till the other guessed she must know, instead, 
Of some pleasanter thing to do. 

And when the baby awoke at last, 

Fretting with sleepy whim, [past, 

Though the seam was done, and an hour was 
Still she smiled : “ I can wait, with Him ! ” 


Ah, many a Mary, merry or staid, 

On the hillsides there might be ; 

But was not the deacon’s dear little maid 
Real Mary of Bethany ? 


When the older brothers came whooping in — 
Roger and roguish Dan — 

Routing her quiet with rollicking din, 

And teasing, as brothers can ; 


And father, vexed for a mischief played, 
Full hastily called and chid — 

Never a cloud on the face of the maid 
The beautiful brightness hid. 


And when the people stood up to pray, 

As the custom used to be, 

She whispered, “ Dear Christ, like yesterday 
Make all the to-days for me ! ” 


By Mrs. Louise T. Craigin. 


F ROM Finland to Azov, Ochotsk to Obe, 

There’s tumult and turmoil on land and on sea j 
You’d think all creation was turned upside down — 
King Oleg of Russia has lost his gold crown ! 

They say the King cut off the chancellor’s head ; 
They say the old chamberlain tumbled down dead ; 
The guards in the palace, in five minutes’ space, 
Were straight to Siberia sent in disgrace ! 

The fault was not theirs ; but, if matters go ill, 

’Tis certain that some one must foot up the bill ; 

If kings can’t be censured for mischief they’ve done, 
There must be found shoulders to lay it upon ! 

Did robbers force open the great castle gate ? 

Did burglars break in and then stealthily wait, 

And, spite of stout bars, iron bolts and steel locks, 
Bear off from the palace King Oleg’s strong box ? 

Ah, no ! Tho’ ’tis treason to say it, I fear, 

Nor burglar nor midnight marauder came near, 

No robber gained entrance. If truth must be told, 
King Oleg himself lost the big crown of gold ! 

A long while ago, on the, night of his birth, 

Was seen a great comet approaching the earth; 

And now, once again, the astrologers wise 
Discover strange portents aloft in the skies. 



He napped and he nodded ; but each time he woke, 
Straight out of the window his head he could poke. 
— It wasn’t so easy to balance that crown ! 

It seemed ev’ry instant it must topple down, 


The horoscope old they ponder anew, 

They find, past a question, the comet is due 
About this same season ; and with it, ’tis clear, 
Misfortune and trouble must surely appear. 


King Oleg this comet resolved to espy ; 

He held his big spy-glass up close to his eye, 
And he sat in his great chair of state upright, 
His crown on his head, through the livelong night. 


The sensible Queen in her white-ruffled cap 
Woke again and again from a warm cosey nap, 

“ Do take off that big crown, dear Oleg,” she said, 
“ And, too, you would be better off in your bed ! 


For each time he twisted his head in the search, 

Tho’ too sleepy to know it, the crown gave a lurch. . 
Now crowns, to look stately, should always stand 
square, 

For if not, they give one a scandalous air, 


“ I never could see why your crown you would wear, 
When there’s nobody round but just me to care ! ” 

“ Because you’re a woman ; it’s quite plain to me : 

A king wears his crown for his own dignity ! ” 



********** 

The wind it was high and the night it was cold, 

The King felt the frost through his ermine and gold ; 
He rubbed his nose smartly, for fear it would freeze, 
Then shivered and shook, and then gave a big 
sneeze ! 



Ah, fatal that sneeze for the great Russian crown ! 

It trembled and tottered, and then tumbled down ; 

It bumped, and it bounced from the wall to the 
ditch, 

And fell at the feet of an old wrinkled witch. 


Loud sounded the trumpets ; the news through the 
land 

Flew fast, and each courtier in grief wrung his hand. 
It was “ oh,” it was “ ah,” and they tore at their hair. 
While Oleg himself was half-crazed with despair. 

They summoned the cunning, the star-gazing men, 

In hopes by their wisdom to find it again — 

Arabian, Persian, Chaldee and Chinese ! 

As well, for advice, have consulted the geese ! 

In throngs they came trooping, North, South, East 
and West ; 

Some horoscopes drew, and some quietly guessed. 

But each one was round-eyed, and grave as an owl, 
And nodded as sagely as that learned fowl. 

Quite strange to relate, they at last all agreed, 

Then sent to King Oleg their verdict with speed. 

To make it more mystic they put it in verse, 

And muttered in Sanscrit, “ It might have been 
worse ! 

“ When from an old crone comes again your gold crown , 
Though all of your courtiers should grimace and frown , 
And though humble the goose-girl by whom it was won , 
Right there on the spot she shall marry your son A 



She picked up the glittering circlet of gold ; 

Her big woollen apron in many a fold 
She wrapped round her treasure without more 
delay, 

And then, undiscovered, soft trotted away. 


The King then commanded the heralds to stand 
And blow from each corner the news thro’ the 
land, 

That the maids of Russia of every degree, 

Might search if they would, all diligently. 





“ A maiden I’m seeking whose tidy and neat, 
To milk and make butter, and cut up my peat, 
To dust and to sweep, and to go to the mill, 
And care for my geese when I’m busy or ill.” 


Twas strange how thick goose-girls appeared on 
each hand ! 

Old crones, too, for mistresses, came in demand ! 
Small service they got, when their poor backs were 
turned — 

To hunt for that crown every girl’s fingers burned. 


Then Drontha said quickly, “ Take me for you* 
maid, 

Of hard work I am not in the least afraid.” 

For Drontha the oracle kept in her mind, 

“For perhaps it is I who the crown shall find ! ” 


Now Drontha and Dwina were fairest by far, 

Of all the goose-girls in the lands of the Czar , 

They herded their geese on the common al 1 day, 
And snapped their long whips if the geese dared to 
stray. 


One morning the crone waked her maid from her 
sleep : 

“ The peat you must cut, you can dust, too, and sweep : 
To Novgorod fair I am going to-day, 

And mind from the chimney you keep far away.” 


Of course they both wondered whom frte would decree 
To find the gold crown, and a princess to be. 

“ I wish some old crone would take me for her maid ! ” 
Sighed Drontha. That instant a voice gruffly said, 


The old crone had scarcely gone out of her sight, 
When Drontha began to poke round, left and right. 
At last she climbed up on the high bacon rack, 

And found in the chimney a black sheepskin sack. 



Then quickly she seized it and quicker jumped down ; 
She danced high for joy as she felt of the crown ; 
With fingers that trembled, the knots she qntied, 
u Yes I'll wed Prince I mar ! ” she eagerly cried. 


Then safe in her apron the treasure she hid, 

And under her jacket the golden crown slid. 

She ran down the pathway that led to the wood, 

For close to the forest the King’s castle stood. 

Right over the pathway a little gate hung, 

And backward and forward it ceaselessly swung. 

It creaked and it squeaked, and it mournfully sighed, 
It moaned and it groaned, and it plaintively cried : 

“ Please shut me and latch me, I pray, pretty maid, 
It hurts my back badly to swing so,” it said. 

“The Prince I’m to marry, you’ll just have to swing. 
I can’t stop to bother for such a small thing ! ” 

While crossing the meadow, she met the red cow : 

“ Pray stop, pretty maiden, and please milk me now ! * 
“ I’m in a great hurry,” replied the rude maid, 

“I can’t stop for trifles — the Prince I’m to wed.” 

As Drontha came near to the foot of the hill, 

She heard a low voice from the old water-mill : 

“ O pray, pretty maiden, just turn my big wheel ! 

I’m tired of standing here silent and still ! 

“ Indeed I won’t,” Drontha then rudely replied ; 

“ For a nap in the hopper, I’m going to hide ; 

And that is the reason I stopped here to-day — 

To marry Prince Imar I’m now on my way.” 




The crone returned home, and at once missed 
the sack, 

And soon started off on the naughty maid’s track. 
She trotted along till she came to the gate, 
lhat, creaking and moaning, swung early and 
late. 

“ O gate o’ mine, O gate o’ mine, 

Say, have you seen that girl o’ mine ?” 

“ A rude girl passed an hour ago, 

Who left me swinging to and fro. ” 

“That’s just my Drontha, the rude, rude maid, 
’Twas she, I’m certain,” the old crone said. 

“O cow o’ mine, O cow o’ mine, 

Say, have you seen that girl o’ mine?” 

“ A rude girl passed an hour ago, 

Who wouldn’t milk me, that I know.” 

“ That’s just my Drontha, the rude, rude maid ! 
’Twas she, I’m certain,” the old crone said. 

“O mill o’ mine, O mill o’ mine, 

Say, have you seen that girl o’ mine ? ” 

“A girl’s in the hopper fast asleep, 

Way down in the corn she’s buried deep.” 

“ That’s just my Drontha, rude, lazy maid ! 

’Tis she, I’m certain,” the old crone said. 

Then out of the hopper the old woman took her ; 
With all of her might and her main she shook her, 
Till Drontha the crown dropped in terror and fright, 
And ran without stopping till quite out of sight. 



The old woman put the gold crown in the sack, 
And hid it again by the high bacon rack ; 

Then off to the common she went with all speed, 
Though sorry was she of a maid to have need. 

There Dwina sat knitting and watching her 
geese, 

Her dinner beside her of black bread and cheese, 


While round her the geese on one leg stood to rest 
These words to the goose-herd, the old crone ad 
dressed : 

“A maiden I’m seeking who is tidy and neat, 

To milk and make butter, and cut up my peat, 

To dust and to sweep, and to go to the mill, 

And care for my geese when I’m busy or ill." 




Young Dwina spoke gently : “Your maid I will be 
Your work I’ll endeavor to do faithfully. 

1 know how to milk, how to dust and to sweep, 
And, if busy or ill, your geese I can keep.” 


“ To Novgorod fair I am going, my dear; 

Cut plenty of peat, keep the fire burning clear ; 
There’s plenty of sweeping and dusting to-day, 
But see that you keep from the chimney away.’ 


The hut Dwina swept and made everything neat ; 

She washed up the hearthstones and cut up the peat; 
But the fire wouldn’t burn, and the smoke filled the 
hut, 

So her broom-stick she took to clear out the soot. 


She met on the meadow the poor lowing cow : 

“ I wish, pretty maiden, you could milk me now ! ” 
“ Indeed I will gladly,” the little maid said. 

She filled the big bucket, and then onward 
she sped. 


When lo ! from the chimney there came tumbling 
down 

A black sheepskin sack with King Oleg’s gold crown ! 
Said Dwina, “This crown to the King ought to go ! 
My way I can find to the castle, I know ! ” 


She came to the brook, where the old water-mill 
Huskily said, “ Please, to start my big wheel.” 
“Indeed I will gladly,” the little maid said. 

She turned the big wheel, and then onward 
she sped. 


She came to the gate that still wearily hung : 

“ Please latch me. I’m tired, so long have I swung.” 
“Yes, that I will gladly,” the young maiden said. 

She latched the gate gently, and then onward 
sped. 


The old crone returned, and of course missed the sack. 
She looked at the hearth, she examined the rack ; 
The hut was so tidy, so wholesome and sweet, 

She said, “One thing’s certain, young Dwina is 
neat. 




“ O gate o' mine, O gate o’ mine, 

Say, have you seen that girl o’ mine ? ” 

Only a lady have 1 seen, 

Who very' kind to me has been ! ” 

u Oh, that can never be my little maid, 
She’s only a goose-girl,” the old crone said 

“ O cow o’ mine, O cow o’ mine, 

Say, have you seen that girl o’ mine ? ” 


She came to the castle, and stood there amazed, 

For joy bells were ringing, and bonfires blazed ; 

Brass bands, too, were playing, and the people who 
chose, 

Were going to court in their best Sunday clothes. 

And when the old crone said, “What does this 
mean?” 

They shouted “ King Oleg his crown has again ! 
Prince Imar, young Dwina, the goose-herd, will wed, 
For that’s what the oracle plainly has said ! ” 



“ Oh, that can never be my little maid, 

She’s only a goose-girl,” the old crone said. 

“ O mill o’ mine, O mill o’ mine, 

Say, have you seen that girl o’ mine ? ” 

“ Only a lady have I seen, 

Who very kind to me has been ! ” 

“ Oh, that can never be my little maid, 
She’s only a goose-girl,” the old crone said. 


il I’m glad,” said the crone, “ and I am not sur. 
prised 

( She was really a fairy quite closely disguised ) ; 
Prince Imar no worthier Princess could find, 

For Dwina’s obliging, neat, courteous and kind.” 

Her words were the truth, whether fairy or crone ; 
For of all the Czars that have sat on the throne, 

Nor annals, nor legends, before then or since, 

Can tell of a happier Princess and Prince. 



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